``Molto bene!'' he gushes in a thick Italian accent, surveying his canvas. Then he turns to the camera. ``Scared to take a chance with color? Well, you won't be any more. Transform your interior and brighten up your life with today's Interior Motives.''

And here he is as the Godfather of Decorating: a goofy don, part Brando, part clown, his face obscured by shadows. ``So you have finally come to me for help,'' he rasps in perfect Godfather-speak, then addresses viewers yearning to transform their split-levels into palazzos: ``When I, Christopher, am done, it will be like your decorating problems nev-ver existed.''

Cornball humor is his trademark. Showing viewers how to transform a plain rectangular room into a Moroccan tent, complete with 70 yards of fabric, cinnabar-colored walls and dozens of candles, Lowell exclaims, ``Well, get ready to rock the Casbah!'' Later on, he cocks his eyebrow in faux puzzlement. ``I'm ready for my six guests to arrive. Now the only thing I'm trying to figure out is, do I have ample camel parking?''

Welcome to the getting-better-looking-all-the-time world according to Lowell. He is likely to proclaim that there are seven simple layers to decorating, and if devotees apply every one of these layers faithfully, from the paint to the accent lighting, they can't go wrong. However, the eighth layer is not so simple. No one can buy it, and only Lowell has it. ``It's my personality, which is really what draws the audience,'' he boasts. ``It sure isn't my glue gun.''

Glue gun or no, Lowell knows how to capture viewers. And clearly, he doesn't mind hamming it up to disarm his audience, ``fearlessly,'' as he puts it, guiding them through simple do-it-yourself projects.

Within three months of his show's September 1996 debut, its mix of the practical and the madcap propelled it to the No. 1 daytime ratings spot on the Discovery Channel, where it now airs twice daily.

Recently Interior Motives was nominated for two Daytime Emmy Awards, one for Outstanding Service Show Host, the other for Outstanding Service Show. The 40-ish interior designer - who rebuffs further inquiries into his age with a melodramatic ``I'm not going there!'' - is tanned, well-groomed and possessed of a frenetic energy that seems to catapult him through 10 tasks in less than 10 minutes. At a recent photo shoot, Lowell showed up with 20 perfectly pressed shirts, just in case he didn't like what the wardrobe stylist had brought for him.

And his energy is contagious: He gets more than 2,000 letters a week, and the official Christopher Lowell Web site (www.christopher lowell.com), which debuted on March 12, is chockablock with Lowell lore and helpful hints.

But then the decorating life comes naturally to him. Born Richard Christopher Lowell Madden in Alaska and raised in the fishing town of Portsmouth, N.H., he is the son of middle-class parents who were constantly renovating and remodeling their home.

After high school, Lowell was drawn to the theater, moving to Boston where he honed his lighting, costume and set design skills at the Charles Playhouse. Dropping his first and last names along the way, Lowell later spent three years as a creative director at Matrix Essentials, a hair-care products company, all the while exercising his design skills in free-lance decorating jobs for friends.

These eventually earned him enough money to finance his next dream - producing and starring in a television decorating show of his own. First, Lowell pitched the concept to the Discovery Channel, and when management showed interest, he spent close to $100,000 of his own money on a pilot.

Once the Discovery brass took a look, they quickly hustled the show onto the air. And audiences just as quickly tuned in.

Never mind that the flamboyant host isn't your average television tastemeister. His viewers can't get enough of him. They love it when he creates a decorative centerpiece by filling a wooden bowl with a square of sod from his local nursery and studding it with votive candles. They listen, rapt, when he implores them to reduce clutter, barking like a coach at half-time, ``Get rid of that extra mint dish!''

It is this combination of cheerleader, drill sergeant and busybody neighbor, more Richard Simmons than Martha Stewart, that endears Lowell to his public. He's one of them, and he never condescends. His fans, seduced by Lowell's calculated common touch and his one-to-one approach, are often stunned when they show up at a personal appearance, only to discover that 5,000 others have also descended upon him.

``They think it's a neighborhood show that airs only in their town,'' Lowell observes of his admirers, who often arrive with paint chips, fabric swatches and blueprints, hoping for a mini-consultation with the master.